A Tale of Two Countries
by Suhwa
Summary: Germany is not looking forward to making new relations, especially after the second World War—and surely not with Japan's foster sister, the battered South Korea; North Korea wants to do nothing with a former 'tyrant'—or Prussia as he works for the favor of the USSR, yet they find themselves in awkward situations, no thanks to politics. [GerKor, SKfem, mentions of abuse and rape.]
1. Null, the prelude

_"Don't you find this extremely funny?"_

_"What do you mean—what do you think is so _funny_?"_

_"You see, _Dokil_-_ssi_, even a powerful nation like you... cannot be happy—it's hilarious that money cannot buy you laughter nor love."_

A nation torn—and a nation mended.

_"Tell me three things I don't know."_

_"One. I'm not a prince like you think I am. Two, I love myself more than I love the USSR. And three, I am _not _a psycho."_

_"I knew all of those things, _Nord Korea_. I'm not as thoughtless as you believe me to be."_

A nation fallen—and a nation standing.

Two rivers, two seperations, two borders, a plane, a bicycle and many other factors where opposites do more than attract—a tale of two countries, north, south, east and west.

* * *

I was not expecting to find a bolt of inspiration in a certain comment I read—maybe something enough for a oneshot, but here I am with enough inspiration to write a multichapter XD This GerKor fic is likely to span for a long time, thoroughly exploring the similarities, differences and relations of the two countries (and ending in not-very-sappy romance). I thank **@saltyteabag **for the considerate comment—and all the other ideas that you mentioned will be put into other historical multichapters, lol.

I sincerely hope you guys will all enjoy this rarepair which would make a historically accurate fic, and wish you guys the best! Thank you all.

—Suhwa


	2. Eins, Impressions

_I feel the pain, broken hearts, they all feel the same, and I don't want to be all alone_

_Just pull me apart, take me away, tell me it's all gonna be okay, I wanna feel like I'm still alive_

_But I'm dead inside_

**-Neffex, Pull Me Apart**

* * *

He is expecting some slanders at the light footfalls that echo throughout the halls and arrive at his door, at the voice that rudely intrudes into his life.

"Ger—many!"

_Stop pretending to be so light and stupid and brash._

He disliked America. To be extremely correct, he _loathed_ the lad, from his glasses to the obnoxious hero talk. The country could pretend to be dumb, up-in-the-clouds and light, but under that smile, America was just like his former protector—even worse than what was previously Great Britain.

It was why he merely gave the other nation a nod when America entered with a spring in his step, his voice jovial and pleasant and loud. Too loud, making him frown.

"You must be getting old, frowning all the time like the boring old man you are, Germany."

The other had found his own words extremely funny as he chuckled loudly—Germany said nothing at this; he was a loser, he had lost, and good prisoners were expected to be obedient, not noisy and brash.

"What is it?"

"I'm pleased to tell you—your buddy lost the war. He should've given up ages and ages ago, instead he took the dumb route and ended up in hospital."

_Japan_.

Japan, who had attacked Pearl Harbor, getting America into this mess of a war. When he thought of the quiet, polite country and tried to match him with the brutal nation that fought by his side, it left an uncomfortable, bitter taste in his mouth.

_All nations are like that. I was worse._

Instead of gloating about his hard-earned victory, however, America leaned in, his voice lowering.

"I'm bringing a guest—be nice, won't you?"

A guest that America was warning him about—threatening him about; it had to be no one good, maybe one of the European countries that he had taken captive in the war. Germany didn't want to think about the war—he wanted to take a chunk out of his memory, cleanslate it, forget everything—but he nodded, and America, satisfied, closed the door.

He dreaded the door opening, half-expecting insults thrown into his face as he heard two pairs of feet echoing through the hallway—one America's, and one... female. The sound of heels ringing throughout the hallway.

Hungary? Was it Liechtenstein? Belgium?

"It's okay, it's not.. him. He's chucked in the hospital anyway."

_Why was America using a soft voice?_

But even as he pondered all the possibilities, the door swung open, and he stared up—into a pair of red-brown eyes, tired and narrowed—even frightened. He didn't remember this nation, even as he turned his memory inside and out.

"Germany. This is Korea—or the Southern regions of it."

_Korea_.

She had features he recognized yet didn't, light skin and black hair, wearing a simple blouse and skirt while she clutched a U.S aviator jacket over her lithe form, hands trembling very slightly.

"I know who he is."

Her English was clear, and her voice clearer as she spoke, a finger pointing at him—or at his military uniform. At the armband he was holding, to be precise—somehow, he had not been stripped of it even as he had been unceremoniously kept as prisoner.

"_Doitsu_, he said—_Dokil_-"

_Doitsu_. And Germany recalled a very distant memory of Japan entering with a girl other than Taiwan, his 'pearl'—a girl who had kept her head bowed during the entire meeting, who had been wearing an expensive kimono—who Japan had called _Yeon-chan_ with something that had felt like affection.

It had occured to him much later that it was not affection, more like possessiveness. It now came back to him in flashes, how she had stared blankly at the ground instead of the nations in the room—back then, he had passed it off as embarassment.

It had been hatred, he knew now—as he now looked at the accusing finger that belonged to a slender hand, that was outstretched from a nation who gave him eyes of pure disgust.

"Yes, he is—or the Western regions of it, South. Come now... it wouldn't do both of you much good to be so awkward with each other."

He did not want to be in a room with a gleeful America and Japan's sister. While he had missed company after being in a solitary room with the occasional visits from the former and his allies, this was not the type of meeting he had thought of—if it had been one of his former colonies, he would have at least felt something easily.

Now he felt confused as did the former colony, her delicate face crinkling into a frown.

"What do you mean, America-_nim_?"

The 'nim' felt like an honorific—similar to Japan's 'san', only now it was devoid of any honoring feelings as Korea crossed her arms, her face demanding an explanation.

"Well, Korea... He's also staying with me—can't have him causing any more wars, can we? USSR has his sibling, and he's my honored captive for now."

"What do you mean, also."

As his eyes searched for an answer, he could read it in the American's visage—all too easily.

"Why, Germany... Thanks to your buddy Japan, Korea can't run herself—or themselves for a few years. She needs some help before independence, otherwise she'll fall."

_And become communist._

The last line was better unsaid.

"She's staying as a honored guest until she can rule herself again. With us. Think of her as my... _little sister_."

_You don't have a little sister. That's the same thing Japan said, that Britain said._

"Of course, unlike her _tyrannical_ brother, I actually believe in promises... so she'll go as soon as she can—you believe me, don't you?"

As both nations stared at her, America with his proud, broad smile and Germany with a blank expression, Korea gave her answer.

"Of course, I do."

But as he stared at her eyes, placid and devoid, West Germany knew the truth—_she does not trust anyone, and she never will_.

* * *

She is tired, worn out and all-too-eager to sleep instead of listen to America and his war-tales. Instead, she keeps her mouth politely shut and smiles although everything about it is false and pained.

"You know, we never thought we'd be able to find you within Korea considering your twin was... in China!"

_Yes, it must be a miracle I'm still alive instead of dead. It's a miracle that our country somehow managed to keep its spirits, its countrymen. _

She had held on to one belief during everything that had transpired during colonization, something China had told her many, many centuries ago when she had fallen as Hubaekjae yet managed to live on; _a country will never truly fall when its spirit and loyal countrymen live on_. And it was why, thirty-five years after Japan had grimly passed her a document with concealed mirth that she was standing (managed to stand tall) and listening to a Western nation go on and on about his success in war.

"I guess you'd like something to eat, sardines or steak or... hmm, I don't know what you'd like, Japan usually-"

"You needn't put too much of your effort into my food."

While her voice is lowered and managed as a sweet one, holding on to what remained of her manners, Korea—Lee Ha-Yeon no longer smiles at her host, and he has caught on to what is laced under her courtesy.

"I may look alike to that treacherous one I used to call my kin, but we do not share much in common."

_Forget, and it will be easier to move on. Forget about how he used to call you 'little sister' and march you around the marketplace, forget about writing calligraphy together, forget about your stupid, false hopes about him helping you modernize. Forget about your horror when he shoved a knife under the neck of your own twin... and you might, may be able to move on. _

She hates herself for not being able to fully hate Japan; she should—but she has never been cut out for hating, for harboring negative emotions, and so she rots from the inside out as she struggles to remain poised, calm and extremely grateful in her act. A part of her wants to grab the other nation by the tie and scream at him, _why didn't you help us earlier, why did you arrive just now? _...But Korea, or the Southern Regions of it merely smiles as she pulls off the jacket America lent her—

"Are you okay?"

What a dumb thing to say, him out of all nations. Korea can see herself from a third person's angle—she has been well-fed considering her countrymen were starving to death, but she's thin compared to America; her hair is a mess and her clothes are not exactly her size, sewn and sewn again because of Japan's orders about _reusing material for the war effort_, and here and there, tiny cuts and bruises can be seen, no matter what effort she makes to conceal them—she has earned every single one for talking back, every single one for her countrymen and their efforts for freedom (and she is _proud_ they exist). All in all, Korea knows she does not look fine, that she is surely not okay.

"I'm perfectly fine, _thank you_."

And the talk returns to dinner and her stay with America, the clothes she will require, a whole new education and a talk about a new government. She does not forget he has never mentioned her twin brother—she does not forget he has never mentioned China, and her chest seems to tighten like it did for fifteen years, ever since Japan told her in rage that they were warring against their former _big brother._

"Well... "

They are about half-done in their talk when America notices something he should have noticed many hours ago, when they met for the first time after her freedom.

"You should take a bath as soon as possible, I'll get you some suitable clothes."

She is very sure the suitable clothes are by no means her own traditional clothing—but she is also sure, at least, that he will not bring her a kimono, and so Korea nods and makes her way into a bath after what seems like a decade in her opinion. The bath itself takes an eternity, because it takes about that much to lounge about in hot water and use soap and bask in shampoo, and when she is done wrapping herself in a bathrobe, the sun is setting, casting a red glow over the household.

It has been approximately eight hours since her arrival into foreign soil, into American soil under the decisions of her politicians that it will be better for her to stay under the wing of a powerful country that is eager to help; but every time she stares at an American flag, the only thing she can think of is a Japanese flag—and her cynical opinion that maybe, _maybe _she has traded one master for another.

* * *

**So I'm done with one chapter of this story; I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it XD About CS, I've recently discovered that my old writing sucks in the major third degree, and that it will be better revised... which means I'm busy fixing it so that the flow is more natural, the story is smoother to read and easier on the eyes. **

**You can see this fic as a Alternate of CS after the Pacific War; which means most of the titles and relations are kept based on actual history, but since it may concern a few readers, here goes an explanation...**

**-China, Korea, Japan are not related; their titles of 'hyung', 'orabuni', 'little sister', 'older brother' are based off their pseudo-familial relations, and their (past) love issues that are mentioned are not incest nor pedophilia. For those that need a more thorough explanation, please check out CS, where I wrote a very detailed one regarding legitimate concern.**

**-SK, NK are the descendants and children of Silla/Baekjae/Goguryeo, previously Goryeo then Chosun; the reason why both have survived is because of strong culture difference between the southern and northern regions of the peninsula. **

**-SK and China formerly had a romantic relationship (based on their extremely strong historical ties and the Sino-Japanese war where Japan and China fought over domination of Korea) that ended up crashing; Japan, during occupation was unkind to his former 'siblings' and abused his younger 'sister'. (You can search up facts about the Japanese occupation of Korea).**

**-Spoilery: NK's actions are based off members of the K-resistance that believed in communism; they escaped to Kando to avoid prosecution, then moved to Russia then mainland China as the war grew stronger. (It is mentioned that NK escaped to China, and did not return.) After Korea gained independence, NK joined hands with the USSR and later PRC. **


	3. Zwei, Dinner

_Boys, they're handsome and strong, but always the first to tell me I'm wrong_

_Boys try to tame me, I know, they tell me I'm weird and won't let it go_

_No, I'm fine, I'm lying on the floor again, cracked door, I always wanna let you in_

_Even after all of this shit, I'm resilient_

_'Cause a princess doesn't cry, a princess doesn't cry_

_Over monsters in the night, don't waste our precious time on boys with pretty eyes_

**-Aviva, Princesses Don't Cry**

* * *

When she came out of the bathroom, America whistled—it was not a noise that made her angry, she knew he was paying her a compliment like a gentleman in his way, and so she smiled like any gracious guest would have. Ignoring the feeling in her stomach that told her she needed to use the restroom again.

The clothes he had clumsily gotten together for her were not exactly her size, but they were new and fresh, which was just enough for her—even though the silk blouse and black skirt that just barely covered her knees made her uncomfortable.

The way those Westerners dressed were in the words of her countrymen, obnoxious and shameless. It was however, something her countrymen and herself needed to get used to—their traditional clothes were beautiful and she loved her _hanbok_, but it was less efficient from some point in her life.

"Well, look at you—all dressed up, I think people would hardly recognize you now!"

"It _is_ better with clean clothes—thank you, I will make sure to repay you as soon as possible-"

"Hey, what are buddies for? You don't need to repay me now or later!"

She couldn't be perfectly sure about _that_, but Korea smiled gratefully as America led her down the steps for dinner, talking all the while about how he knew her clothes would be a perfect fit (they were a size too big), and how he knew she would be perfectly happy during her stay (she would make the most out of it, she _would_).

Yet she couldn't help her smile freeze when she saw who was standing by the dinner table. It was _him_, in a clean suit with a grim expression as if he was being marched to his death. West Germany did not look happy, and she knew her own horror was echoed in the other nation. They couldn't dine _together_.

"It's better you get used to this sooner than later, South—or can I just call you Yeon like your brothers?"

As her brain refused to fully activate, the reality that she was going to dine with one of her former captor's friends crashing through like a hailstorm in a rice field, Korea clutched at her skirt like a lifeline. America was not allowed to spring this on her, he was not her boss nor was he her superior—

_Your politicians think he's superior. Keep your pretty mouth shut and behave—and yes, I know this is how the thirty-five years of hellgate opened for our poor countrymen._

America didn't bother to hear her answer, but the look he gave her was kinder than before—kind enough for her to calmly sit down instead of causing a scene about this entire event. The host nation gave her hand a tiny squeeze before letting go, to sit at the head of the table and clapped his eyes on the other person in the room, this time with a more sinister light.

"So, Yeon here is staying as a guest—while I cannot bring her what she desires, I certainly _can _give her half of what she might want."

The words were not directed at her, but at West Germany, who silently closed his eyes, defeated as a sigh escaped his mouth—something had transpired between them, there had been a talk while she had not been present, and she did not know how the turn of events would effect her at all.

"As you can see, Korea, West is here to learn how to behave like a civillian instead of a jerk—many people suffered under his govern; and while it would only be fair that those victims be the ones to dish out the punishments, they're not present here. You fit half the bill of a punisher, an avenger—after all, you're one of the chief victims of the Axis, are you not?"

She could see where this talk was headed, which direction it was going, and she did not like it. Not even one bit.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt, you are here as punishment, and your time here under my servitude will help you reform... I don't see why your servitude should not extend to one of my guests. Be grateful, at least you're well fed and healthy while your brother's rotting in a Soviet prison."

Germany was going to serve _her_. Or in other terms, America had allowed her to deal with West Germany. It was a tactic, a display of his generosity to her and a beginning of rewards, if she in turn, served him as his ally. A part of her wondered what Gilbert Beilschimdt was doing at this time, was he really rotting in a jail or was it America playing with West Germany and his feelings?

There was a knock on the door, and it opened to several dishes of food, making her stomach growl silently.

"Ger—many."

America now had his fork and knife at the ready, as he nodded to the other nation; there was defeat in the man's eyes as he bowed his head and took a steaming dish of steak, then placed it in front of the master of the household. There was a silence, that was broken by that same jovial tone of America's.

"Both hands, not one. Didn't your brother tell you it's disrespectful?"

With _both hands_, a bowed head and silence on his side, the former soldier replaced the dish in front of her eyes, as Korea took a sip from the glass of water on the table. While her gaze was fixed on the humiliation Germany was going through, her thoughts wandered elsewhere, into another household where China had sat on the head of the table, Ha-Eung had talked animatedly about the new ship at the harbor, Xiang nodding absentmindedly at his words—she missed that house, that family where Mei teased her about the slightest mistakes she made in her dance steps and Kiku had poured them all some green tea. She missed being happy, that sense of belonging—now she was in a mansion where she stood out with her dark hair and facial features, a whole new environment.

"Yeon?"

America's voice was what called her back into reality, where she sat facing an empty seat only a few feet from the host as he ate his food with dexterity and ease. He was expecting her to do something, make an order or bark at West Germany, who had now gotten another plate (that had to be hers) and was now staring at her.

"I... I drifted off, I'm terribly sorry. Thank you for your help, sir."

She didn't want to make ridiculous displays of authority that didn't even belong to her—and as she began to eat, Korea thought about the hilarity of the situation. If America had handed her Japan, she would have gladly forced him to do everything she could make him. But this was Germany, not Japan—and her anger was not the same for the nations. In a way she was disappointing America; she was not giving him a show of what he wanted, but in another way, she was being who she was, refined, perfect, ladylike South Korea that nobody could really dislike.

_I am a lady. And a lady does not slip. I am a_ Princess_, and a princess does not give up to her selfish feelings. _

* * *

"How was it?"

Germany blinked at the words, the three words that had been spat out of America's mouth with dislike and anger. He hadn't exactly done anything wrong during the dinner, just stood there like a good soldier as the younger nation made him do the other's bidding, fetch him another knife, get him more steak, give him a glass of wine, exetra.

"I do not understand-"

"How was it, serving a _perfect lady_ who's too much of a lady to vent on you even when you totally deserve it?"

"If you are talking about Korea-"

Korea had retreated earlier during the middle of the dinner, saying she needed some sleep, America had been a gracious host but she was nauseous from the plane ride and didn't think she could stomach too much—she had even bothered a pretty curtsy as she had left to her room.

"She's too _nice_—or maybe, you don't look enough like Japan for her to be angry at you directly!"

"Maybe she's not good at being angry."

There was a silence after he said the words he shouldn't have, maybe out of stress and tire and the sheer _cheek _of America toying with him, him and his emotions and mocking his brother—

"...Oh, yes, she _is_, Germany."

Something, pretty much something called instinct told him not to ask why there was a glint in Alfred F. Jones' eyes as he said the words, his finger now tapping against the table—it was a nervous habit; but _why _America was nervous in his own house, he could not simply comprehend.

"Beilschmidt. Do me a favor—and check on our young lady, will ya?"

And he was back to that young, thoughtless child he was in a blink of an eye as he grinned up at a disgruntled, now bothered Germany, who couldn't (and didn't want to) understand what was going on in the other nation's head.

"She is not fond of me-"

"Yeah, she doesn't like me either—I don't exactly blame her, y'know."

Why did America suddenly look... guilty? It made sense he felt a certain nausea everytime he had laid eyes upon the Asian country, but the man sitting in front of him had now taken up the task of wiping his glasses—he did not want _any_ questions.

"Just do me one favor, and I'll leave you off for today—Korea's room is on the same floor as yours, only two rooms away."

What he wanted was a good rest from all the humiliation, the anger and the anxiety he had felt. He desperately needed to return to his room—his _cell_—and sleep so that he could forget about the third presence in this ridiculously large house.

But somehow, he found himself facing another door, as he stood by it before gently knocking on it. There was no sound inside Korea's room—she had to be asleep, and that was a good thing, for he would not have to see her face to face or conjure up a conversation.

And yet... as he made his way down the hall, Germany halted in front of the bathroom, as a very faint, nearly untraceable sound could be heard. His blood seemed to run cold at the noise, the all-too-familiar sound.. of _retching_. He could simply ignore it and inform America that their guest seemed to be fine and happily asleep...

His hand pulled the door open, and he saw.

Saw the proud, dignified and well-mannered Southern Regions of Korea, leaning her face into the toilet, as she threw up everything she had eaten during their dinner. It seemed to be slowly etching into his memory, the other nation's shoulders shaking as tears began to cling at her lashes, her hands pressed painfully against the handle... Until she saw him.

The hatred he had received before by her accusatory finger was nothing, as the Asian country stared up, one hand desperately covering her mouth. Her eyes seemed to glow with malice upon the realization—the thought that _he_, him out of all nations had seen her weak and extremely vulnerable, upon her worst state.

Gilbert had always been better than him with human emotions, Gilbert would have known what to do... but it was not East, but West who stood like a statue in front of the other, at the door.

"Get. _Out."_

The words were a hiss as they escaped from her mouth, and he did not need telling twice. The thought that he had seen the princess fall, lose her mask and posture, and that enough was torture for her only occured a few days later upon another unfortunate incident.

* * *

**Yay! I'm done with two chapters of this! I miiight introduce NK/Prussia/USSR soon, but maaaaybe a few chapters later, lol. For now, I think I'm going to focus on this extremely unlucky pair who hates each other's guts (maybe SK, Germany just wants to escape).****The reason for America's guilt... is a SPOILER. So yeah, I'll leave you guys to guess upon that reason—and yes, it has something to do with colonization. I want to try writing something fluffy for the next part (but I can't make fluff at THIS era... or can I?) but it's a _want_, not a set thing. Thanks for reading and reviewing, you guys are the best!**


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